m^m 



7 73 



7-^~ 



OTHER POEIVIS. 



OTHER FOSIMES. 



CHARLES WEST THOMSON. 



' Simple flowers, such as the hedge-rows scent." 



PHILADELPHIA: 
PUBLISHED BY MABOT & WALTEll, 

KO. 87, MARKET STHEET. 

1826. 



PS 303=1 
T44, 






J. HlCiiAUIlS, PllISTKB. 



PREFACE. 



Poetry is not so much the art of express- 
ing, in harmonious numbers, the thoughts 
and emotions of the mind, as the power of 
exhibiting those thoughts and emotions, so 
as to produce a feeling of interest in the 
minds of others. It is not so much the lan- 
guage, as the spirit that pervades it, which 
constitutes the charm of poetry; and hence 
it arises, that the most truly poetical ideas 
are often entirely destitute of what some af- 
fect to consider the necessary accompani- 
ment of measured versification. 

How far the author of the following tri- 
fles has attained the above definition remains 
for others to determine. From the world 
at large he anticipates little attention; the 



VI PREFACE. 

bustling multitude will not turn aside, to 
list the chimings of so humble a lyre; and 
whatever notice friendship may accord, will 
probably arise more from partiality, than 
unbiassed judgment. Under all circumstan- 
ces, however, he wishes his book to stand 
upon its own merits. 



CONTENTS. 

EtLINEB, ..... 1 

Logan's Lament, - - - - 11 

To Greece, . . . - - 16 
Reminiscences of a Night on the Kaatskill 

Mountains, .... 20 

To a descending Star, - - - 24 

Penn's Tree of Concord, ... 25 

An Evening Reverie, - - - - 29 

How sweet to me, - - - - 31 

Song of the Persian Exile, - - - 32 

Recollections of a visit to the Katerskill Falls, 35 

No tear-drop fell, - - - - 38 

Youth, 40 

Euthanasia, - - - - - 43 
I should have been a Persian, - - 46 
Lament for a young friend, - - - 48 
Give not thy time to tears, - - 51 
Stanzas suggested by a late melancholy occur- 
rence, . - - . 53 
Day-break, - - • - - 55 



VUl CONTENTS. 

The Lamp of Love, - - - - 56 

Virtue, ..... 59 

A Flower for an eai-ly Grave, - . .61 

Lines written under depression, • - 63 

Ninety-first Psalm, . . - - 64 

Spring, ..... 66 

Lines written at Lebanon, - - - 67 

Poverty, ----- 69 

A Mother's Lament for her favourite Son, - 72 

The Spirit of the Fire, ... f^ 

Echo, - . . . - - 78 

The Gloom of Night, ... 80 

Reconciliation, - - - - -82 

A Dirge for the Dead, ... 83 

The Contrast, .... - 85 

Notes, . . - - . 89 



ELLINER. 



A FRAGMENT. 



O! THERE is nought that fairy prospect shows, 
So sweet as that which promises repose; 
That which portrays a scene of slumbering-, 
When storms are hush'd — and Quiet spreads her wing, 
And all that charms the heart — the ear — the eye — 
Breathes but the spirit of serenity. 
Such is that lonely hour of parting light, 
When drowsy Day has sought the arms of Night, 
Yet stays — before she drops the veil of Even, 
To throw one smile along the silent heaven. 
That hour, when clouds, that round the horizon dun, 
Blush'd 'neath the farewell kisses of the sun. 
Have fled from his embrace and flown more high. 
Spread their faint crimson in meridian sky; 
When pensive mists and shades begin to brood. 
Light as the air, and still as solitude, 
2 



And Nature g'lows beneath their close caress, 
A fairy twilight of veil'd loveliness. 

And not less lovely was fair Elliner — 
Poor orphan! welcome was that hour to her, 
And through her cottage window's lattice screen, 
That look'd on Susquehanna's fairest scene. 
Oft was she wont to watch — serene and far — 
The twinklings of eve's planetary star. 
Sweet maid! description might those features trace. 
Might sketch the outlines of that lovely face. 
But there are lineaments which speak the soul, 
That language cannot paint, nor words control, — 
A fine intelligence — a secret ray, 
Which hearts may feel — yet speech will not portray. 
'Twas mingled beauty — and there was an air 
Of placid, calm composure settled there — 
I.ight of those beams, which virtuous powers dis- 
pense 
To bless the soul of genuine innocence. 
But when the evening shades brought solitude, 
And leaning on her hand in musing mood. 
She mark'd those worlds of living lustre roll, 
A pensive languor o'er her features stole; 
And she would gaze upon those orbs of Night 
rlcatiiig along their glorious sea of light. 



Till onward led by Fancy's swift career. 

She almost seem'd to tread their loftier sphere; 

And ever and anon, a thought would rush 

Across her mind, and cause a tear to gush — 

'Twas for those dear, departed days, when she 

Revelled in all the bliss of infancy — 

When the young spring of life, serene and gay. 

Promised a fair and lovely summer day — 

When every path she trod in those blest hours, 

Was strew'd with fruit, or chequer'd o'er with flowers. 

She was then growing into life — and those 

Who watched her steps and guarded her repose. 

Beheld their bud expand to be forgot — 

She saw, — she knew, — she lov'd them they were 

not!— 
That was a dream of beauty — it had flown — 
And now she woke and found herself alone. 

Yet she was not left friendless — for that power 
Who rules the brightest and the darkest hour, 
Who ever will be virtue's strong defence. 
Looked with compassion on her innocence, 
And warm'd the heart of Florio to protect 
That bud of beauty — lest severe neglect. 
Now it was sever'd from its parent tree. 
Should cause its leaves to wither mournfully. 



Florio was deep in years, and he had borne 
The world's vicissitudes — its cares — its scorn — 
And when he saw the lovely Elliner, 
Like a bright lily, lang-uishing-ly fair. 
By rude Adversity, unfriended, thrown 
On the cold earth and left to droop alone, 
lie deemed it pity that so sweet a flower 
Should be exposed to winter's blasting shower, 
And left to fade — immersed in sorrow's dew, 
'Che sport of every wind which Fortune blew. 

"Poor sweet," he said, "ah! we shall well agree, 
" For we have both been schooled in misery. 
" But thou art young — the bloom of life is thine, 
" It is not fit that thou should'st long repine; 
" Come, let me teach thee sorrow to forget, 
" For days of bliss may shine upon thee yet. 
" Yes, lovely blossom! I will shelter thee, 
" And thou shalt beam thy cheering smile on me, 
" Light of my path — my life's enlivening sun, 
" Dear to my soul, my own adopted one!" 
He paus'd — the trickling drops began to start, 
And deeply spoke the language of his heart. 

And ten long years had wandered by, since first 
Those tears of rapture from old Florio burst: 



And they had wandered swiftly — for the hours 
Had lightly trod a path of sleeping flowers, 
. Save when, to mar the bliss that fiU'd the scene, 
A thought of other days would Intervene. 
In that lone cottage Florio dwelt — with her 
His only hope and comfort — Elliner; 
And oft, at eve, ere yet the whipperwill 
Had ceased his warblings on the distant hill. 
They'd seek the woodbine bower, or onward rove. 
Beneath the shadows of the myrtle grove. 
And stay their steps within its shades, to drink 
The breeze that kissed the Susquehanna's brink. 

O! theirs was life serenely spent repose 

Whose source alone from conscious virtue flows. 

Thus sixteen summers had combined their glow 

On Elliner's fair cheek and marked her brow, — 

When, darkling from the woods, a stranger came. 

AVhat was his birth — his language — and his name? 

JuLiAX the wanderer — what recks it now 

To tell from whence he came — or why or how? 

That is a tale that former days might say — 

But they ai-e gone — why should their memoi-y stay: 

The vales of France first saw him breathe their air, 
And they beheld him grow to manhood there — 



6 

But he was restless — and revolving- time 
Saw him the tenant of a distant clime; 
Far in Hispaniola's western isle, 
He marked his prospects and his fortunes smile. 
He built his nest — he mated — rear'd his brood — 
He thought his bliss too firm to be subdued. 
The hawk of desolation marked her prey — 
With one fell pounce she swept them all away. 

Dread was the hour, when Afric's sons arose, 
Ripe for reveng-e, and mad to meet their foes; 
When towering- massaci'e upheld her brand. 
And stalk'd tremendous o'er the crimson'd land. 
Quaffing her murderous draught with Gorgon look, 
And crushing thousands every step she took. 
One day saw Juhan happy — the next sun 
Beheld him sad — disconsolate — undone. 
For he had seen, upon that moment's wing. 
Sights that appal and wake to shuddering. 
Kindred and friends — all — all — 'twas despair! 
Torn from his arms, and hurl'd — he knew not where. 
Enough — had Julian for himself no fear? 
Yes — mercy favour'd — he escap'd — was here. 

And he was left in utter loneliness, 
An atom on the whirlwind of distress; 



A friendless wanderer — whose life did seem 
Prey of a mind, which slept not, but to dream. 
Fair was his form, and his deportment meek, 
A pallid hue had slightly tinged his cheek; 
His features were turn'd finely regular. 
Yet there seem'd animation wanting there; 
But oh! the dai-kness fringed about that eye 
Uttered a volume of deep mystery, 
A gleam of passions, only half portray'd. 
Like scenes most lovely, when inwrapt in shade. 
His face was fix'd to soitow's settled mood, 
He screen'd his heart in deep, deep solitude — 
And if a look of pity questioned why, 
'Twas mutely check'd by that reproving eye. 

.Seldom he spake — but often, when alone. 

He mutter'd something in an under tone; 

It was a habit fretfulness had taught, — 

The effervescence of unwelcome thought. 

Which, undulating like a troubled sea. 

Would oft o'erflow in words unconsciously. 

And when he met the eye of Elliner, 

He started — shudder'd — turn'd his face from her. 

And stalk'd away — as though he wished to hide 

The agitation that might there preside; 



8 

For 'twas the index to a book of woes, 

He long had wish'd, but had not power to close. 

There was a bower of lattice — intertwined 

With fragrant woodbine, where he oft reclined, 

Indulging in dark dreams of ills gone by, 

And courting all the glooms of memory. 

To that lone bower, one morning, had he flown, 

To make the spacious world of thought his own; 

That world of thought, whose whirl and ceaseless din. 

Though it was torture, he delighted in, 

As birds, attracted by the serpent's eye. 

Flutter in terror, — yet refrain to Ry. 

And he dream'd on, in deep secludedness. 

The mind's abyss — where frenzied fancies press. 

Till some dread phantom of the past had crept 

Upon his soul — and then he woke and wept. 

And Elliner was there — and from her heart 
She grieved to see those trickling tear drops start, 
And all unheeding, hastened where he lay, — 
He started — trembled — rose and turn'd away. 
"Oh! Julian, thou art sad — and wherefore tliis?" 
" I had just won a hovering sylph of bliss, 

'* But it has flown again!" He wandered by, 

AYith look repulsive, checking much reply. 



9 

" Why, Julian, dost thou shun me^ Is there aught 

" In me, that causes an unwelcome thought?" 

" In thee! oh, no! but I would wrap my woes 

" Deep in tliis heart — in undisturbed repose; 

" Why should' st thou learn the sorrows tliat I knew? 

" I would not have thee made unhappy too! 

" But art thou not an orphan?" " Yes — oh! yes, 

" Not long I knew a parent's tenderness!" 

" Well then, 'tis apt — I will to thee unfold 

" Part of a tale, wliich may not all be told! 

" I had a daughter once — a lovely child, 

" Like a fair moon beam, innocently mild. 

" She was my pride, my hope — my sole delight — 

" And often in my wayward fancy's flight, 

" I pictur'd, when my bud was fairly blown, 

" And manj' a long, revolving year had flown, 

" That she should be the comfort of my age, 

" The star light of my closing pilgrimage. 

" Yes! 1 lov'd many an earthly thing — but she 

" Had almost led me to idolatry. 

*' But I was punished — the sixth annual sun, 

" That saw her birth, his course had scarcely run, 

" Ere the short summer of m.y hope was spent — 

" t know not where they laid my innocent! 



10 

" And to behold her pictur'd here, is pain — 

" Image of what I ne'er may see ag-ain! 

" For in thy lovely face, fair Elliner, 

" I mark the fire that animated her — 

" And when, with look intent, I gaze on thee, 

*' I sometimes almost think that thou art she!" 

Elliner mov'd not — speech she could not find. 

But strange ideas floated o'er her mind, 

For in that tongue's soft tones, there seem'd to be 

A music she had heard in infancy; 

Their hands were press'd together — and an air 

Of wildness, told the thoughts that fluttered there; 

They wore a gaze that should not be deceived — 

Gaz'd on — yet doubted; doubting — yet believed. 

A bright instinctive flash around them smil'd — 

Their hearts have met " My father !" " O my 

child !" 



11 



LOGAN'S LAMENT. 

The sky was once bright o'er the path which I trod,- 
And the flowers sprang light from the green-bosom'd 

sod; 
The hills and the mountains were gay to my eye, 
And the wild waters murmur'd in harmony by — 
The mountains still bloom, and the waters still pour, 
But joy in my bosom shall never shine more. 

It was sweet once to sit by the gush of the spring. 
And hear in the wild wood the mocking-bird sing; 
It was blithe, in the stillness and beauty of night. 
To catch the soft echo that foUow'd her flight — 
The night is still beautiful, sweet is the strain. 
But pleasure to Logan returns not again. 

My cabin was built on the verge of the lake, 
And beside me the voice of the cataract spake; 
The dark bosom'd forest stretch'd deep in the rear. 
And behind the blue mountains rose lofty and clear; 
It was blithe to the heart, and serene to the eye, 
To see their long ridges uplifted on high. 



12 

How oft have I sat by that cabin's low door. 
With those who shall sit by that cabin no more. 
And watch'd, in the last, fading light of the day. 
Which the shadows of twilight were driving away, 
The proud eagle sail slowly over the wave. 
Like the Demon of Fear o'er the murderer's grave. 



The Great Spirit sent from the home of tlie blest. 
The brightest of blessings which Logan possess'd; 
'Twas the blessing of Love — oh! it twln'd round his 

heart 
A joy, which he fancied would never depart — 
His children and wife were more dear in his eye. 
Than the bloom of the earth, or the glow of the sky. 



I had long lov'd the white man 1 gave him my 

hand — 
I refus'd 'gainst his nation to lift up the brand — 
My hut was his home, and my hearth was liis bed, 
And my food and my raiment before him were 

spread — 
When hungry, and naked, and weary of limb, 
The cabin of Logan was open to him. 



13 

Tlie men of my nation, when passing-, woulct say, 
" Lo! the friend of the white man," and go on their 

way. 
1 thoug-ht to have built me my tent on their plain, 
And peacefully cultured my little domain — 
But woe to the hand which the strong- link could 

sever. 
And make Logan the foe of the white man forever. 



When I sat in the shade of my own alder tree, 
And saw the young scions surrounding my knee, 
No chief of my tribe was more happy than I, 
Sitting there in the light of my own native sky, 
As free as the air that was whispering above. 
And owning no bond, but the sweet tie of love. 



But the Angel of Death was abroad on the blast. 
And over the flock of my bosom he pass'd — 
1 had not the power his pinion to stay, 
And with one fatal flap they were humed away — 
At the voice of Destruction they sunk in the flood. 
And the waves of Kanaway were red with theli- 
blood. 



14 

Kevongo.wus my watcluvonl, — for it I have t'oug'ht — 
And the boon is ol)l;uncil which so dearly I bought — 
\Vill\ the blood of the w hile men my brand has been 

dyed, 
Anil the full, ^•ushing' fountain of vcng'eance is 

dried — 
I have sent forth my wrath for the souls of the slain, 
Antl peace to my country is welcome again. 



Vet think not 1 fcai" — 'tis a passion unknown 

'lo him, who now walks through the forest alone; 

For life is a thing withoi\t value to me — 

1 stanil like the blackened and storm-shatter'd tree, 

Which the fury and scathe of the tempest have 

torn — 
Ah! who is there now for j)oor Logan to mourn* 



Not one. — Not a creature on earth owns a part 
In the life-drops that flow from his agoniz'd heart. 
No one comes to succour or pity his state, 
No one comes to sigh o'er tlie gloom of his fate — 
Uesolation sits brootling upon his hearth-stone, 
\nd Logan the Mingo is left all alone! 



15 

Yes! I vviiiulcr alone, like tlic doer on Uk- hill, 
And a lliousiind wild fancies my dark bosom fill — 
Like the mist of the mountain, that passes away, 
Like the vapour that shrinks from the coming; of day, 
IJke the light breeze that wafts the brown autumn 

leaf hitlier. 
So Log-an goes forth, and no mortal asks whitiur. 



A s])irit comes over the mountains afar. 

Like the lovely, mild g'low of the evening star; 

Her robe is of light, and is streaming beiiind. 

And she comes floating slow on the wings of the 

wind — 
It is she — my coini)anion in love — it is she! 
And the bright angel group round her Ijosom 1 sec! 



Thu whisper of breezes! she calls me away! — 
Oh! why should 1 linger' oh! why should 1 stay' — 
Yes! take mc, fair spirit, away to thy sky — 
AVhcn joy is no more, 'tis a blessing to die. 
On earth there is nothing to i)anish my ])ain — 
For pleasure to I^ogan returns not again! 



IG 



TO GREECE. 

If any war was ever justifiable, it is that of an op- 
pressed nation contending' for its altars and its 
homes." 

Fair land of song-! and must thy soil 

Where Freedom's foot so oft hath trod, 
Become a proud invader's spoil. 

And quail beneath a tyrant's rod^ 
Must thou, fair Greece, of yore the nurse 

Of science, now be captive led — 
.\nd Despotism's bitter curse 

Be poured on thy devoted headi" — 
Oil! no — the spirit, which sublime 
Upheld tliee in the olden time, 
When Miltiades led thee on 
To victory at Marathon, 
And mailed in Solon's wise decrees, 
Thou foug'ht beneath Themistoclcs — 
Which filled thy realm in every place, 
From Sparta e'en to utmost Thrace, 



17 

This spirit still pervades thy land, 
And wakens every heart and hand 
To strike for Freedom's sacred rig-ht, 

By holy Nature's hand bestowed — 
Deprived of which, however bright. 

Existence were a weary load. 

Maintain the contest, land of son,q-! 

The rightful struggle still maintain. 
And let thy arm be lifted strong 

To break the fell barbarian's chain. 
Still in the righteous cause be bold — 
And, like the patriarch of old, 
Wi'estle through despotism's night, 
Until thou mark the coming light, 
And Liberty's triumphant sun 
Bid thee behold the blessing won. 



Courage! for nations from afar 

Look anxious on the fearful fray. 
And think they see the rising star. 

That ushers in thy glorious day. 
Their hopes, their fears, their j)rayers are thine. 

Their hearts are beating for thy fate — 
And every ray that chance to shine 

On thee, they hail with joy elate. 



IS 

Ah! who, that knew thy ancient story 
Of wisdom, valour, worth and g-lory, 
And still in fancy lov'd to stray 
Back to thy bright and early day. 
And who, that saw thee since began 
Thy slavery 'neath the Ottoman, 
And marked the agonizing' strain 
Thy long-lost station to regain. 
Who could thy desperation see, 
Loving the name of Liberty, 
Nor let the sorrowing heart expand 
In pity to thy suffering land' — 

t 
Onward! nor slacken in thy pace. 

Stretch to the course with heart and soul. 
Nor quit the dread and weary race, 

Until thou gain the wished-for goal. 
Strengthen thy arm, till victory quell 
The fury of the Infidel — 
Till Freedom's banner take the field. 
And to the Cross the Crescent yield. 
Think of the Immolated host. 
That bled on Scio's rocky coast. 
Where, stalking on the ensanguined shore. 
Oppression shouted, drunk with gore — 
Think on the slain — and let the thought, 
Like brand.s from Caesar's death-pyre brought, 



19 

Deal fierce destruction on the foe, 
Till tyranny shall feel the blow. 
And her ensanguined triumph o'er. 
Sink in thy grasp, to rise no more. 

Then cheer thee, Greece, the hour is near, 

When Freedom shall requite thy wrong-, 
And thou again the note shalt hear 

Of Liberty's enraptured song; — 
When days of yore shall seem again 
To breathe and brighten in the strain; 
And, like the rod whicb Aaron bore. 
Thy greenness shall revive once more. 
And from thy trunk, so dry and sear 

Through thraldom's winter doomed to lie, 
The growth of Freedom shall uprear 

Its branches in thy radiant sky — 
Thus to tliy hapless children made 
Alike a shelter and a shade. 



20 



REMINISCENCES 

or A NIGHT ON THE KAATSKILL MOUNTAINS. 

llow free the heart beats on the mountain height, 
Amid the air of heaven — where zephyrs play 
And flutter gaily round on wings of light, 
Fresh from the region of retiring day; 
What noble feelings through the bosom stray, 
When the eye glances on the lower land. 
And sees the green fields stretching far away — 
How does it make the enraptur'd heart expand. 
Spectator of such scenes, on mountain tops to stand. 

Though 'neath the primal curse which sin hath 

wrought. 
Earth has some loveliness remaining still; 
And he, whose bosom owns an adverse thought. 
Let him but stand upon this woodland hill — 
And if no feelings of delight shall thrill 
Across his heart-strings, when from hence he see 
This noble prospect, he is fit to fill 
A station, which may claim affinity 
With the poor brutes, that graze below, from labour 

free. 



21 

He understands alone the joys of life. 

Whose heart can drink, from Nature's glorious hand 

Extended fai', the cup with nectar rife — 

Whose bosom with the potion can expand. 

And fly with Fancy into fairy land — 

He knows, alone, how much it can enhance 

The bliss within his limited command. 

Whose soul can form a region of romance 

Within itself, when o'er a scene like this expanse. 

The fair — the beautiful — sublime and grand — 
Are here united into one. How wide 
The prospect opes before me, as I stand 
And see the noble Hudson 'neath me glide, 
As 'twere a rivulet — and on its tide 
The stately bark sail silently along, 
Looking so swan-like, that it seems to ride 
Array'd in plumage, wanting but its song. 
To play the bird to whom such wondrous traits be- 
long. 

Hamlets and cottages, and bright green fields, 
And woods and vales, and open lawns between — 
Tliese are the beauties which the prospect yields 
Full to the eve — with nouerht to intervene. 



22 

How vast the view! — Ye Houries! what a scene 
For revels like your own! One splendid gaze, 
Far — far into the distance? with no screen 
To intercept the vision as it strays, 
Until it rests upon the horizon's mountain haze. 

O, mountains! j-e were made to lift the soul 
Up from its g-rovellings on this lower earth — 
To point its aspirations to the goal — 
And give it memory of its heavenly birth. 
Great book of Nature! O! how great the dearth 
Of those who read thy glories. — Man, proud man. 
Gives himself up to thoughtlessness and mirth. 
Nor will the beauties of creation scan, 
The length, the breadth, the depth, of the great 
Maker's plan. 

Night has pass'd over with her " gentle moon," 
And Morning pours again her flood of light; 
Blithe Day will follow in her footsteps soon. 
With his fair face, so exquisitely bright. 

Let us go forth, and hail him. Lovely Night! 

O! whither hast thou borne us' to what land 
Of shadows hast thou sped our fairy flight? — 
Most glorious vision! never did I stand 
And gaze upon a scene, so noble and so grand! 



23 

Here, like the eagle on her airy height, 
I look deep down below me, and, behold! 
Spread far and wide as I can stretch my sight. 
Huge volumes of majestic clouds are roll'd; 
In airy shapes, and figures wild and bold, 
They play about each other — now they rear 
Bright crests, now sink them — moi-ethan can be told, 
The forms they fashion ^ — then again, they clear 
A kind of vista, where the lowlands re-appear. 

O! clouds, clouds, clouds ye things of heaven! 

there glow 
Wild majesties about you, which we frail 
And finite creatures never can bestow 
Upon the forms of eartl). Swift on ye sail. 
Like winged messengers, bearing a veil 
Of beauteous texture. 'Neath the sunny skies 
Ye spread yourselves abroad, dusky and pale. 
Seeming, to wild Romance's wandering eyes. 
More like some fairy spell, than bright realities! 



24 



TO A DESCENDING STAR. 



SriHiT of beauty! sweet and lovely star. 

Setting' with ruddy beam behind the hill, 

I hail thy sinking radiance fi-om afar, 

And bless the friendly ray that lights me still. 

Thou seem'st to me some heavenly messenger, 

Winging his way along the concave blue. 

Exhaling as his snowy pinions stir. 

In every flutter, melody and dew. 

The light grows dim — the woodlands misty top 

Catches thy latest glance, and thou art gone. 

So from our view our eai"thly blessings di'op, 

Fade one by one, and leave us sad and lone. 

Farewell! — O! for that never-setting ray, 

Which shines unchanging on to everlasting day 1 



25 



PENN'S TREE OF CONCORD. 

Where now our city lifts her head, 
And in her simple beauty stands. 

Beholding round her borders spread 
A thousand busy hearts and hands, 

A century past, there flourish'd o'er 

These crowded haunts a frowning- wood — 

And midst it, on the river's shore, 

"Penn's honoured tree of concord" stood. 

There, when the moon, with beaming- crest. 
Rose o'er the hills in regal pride. 

Along the water's placid breast 
The light canoe was seen to glide; 

While o'er the still and cloudless scene 

Romantic Nature sweetly bent. 
And from the brake's unmoving screen 

The whipperwill her whistle sent. 

4 



26 

No busy hum of men arose 

At morning's dawn or day's decline — 
But silence there her temple chose, 

And Nature worshipped at her shrine. 



Fair Spring, with soft ambrosial showers. 
The uncultui'ed lands in vei'dure drest. 

And Summer sent her sweet wild flowers. 
By none but Indian footstep prcst. 

Amid the wood and o'er the plain 
Diffuse, her fragrant gifts she flung. 

And on the hoary elm again 

Time saw her virid garlands hung. 

And 'neatli its boughs, where haggard age 
In wrinkles sear her seal had set — 

The Indian wild, and simple sage 

On terms of peace and friendship met. 

The savage crowd were gathered round 
In wild and wonder stricken bands. 

Standing upon their native ground, 
Tlie rightful lords of houseless lands 



27 

With painted skins and eyes of fire 
They stood, with tomahawk on side, 

As if a spark might wake their ire, 
And loose destruction's crimson tide. 



The sag-e's friends were old and few — 
Unused the warlike spear to wield — 

Justice the only sword they knew. 
And Truth their panoply and shield. 

The hand of Penn no weapons bore. 
But such as Friendship may confer, 

And savag-e bands were fierce no more, 
Before the " unarmed conqueror." 

So, even in the savag-e breast. 
Awoke the spirit of the dove — 

And haug-hty Nature's tong'ue confessed 
The o'erpowering- might of Christian love. 

But now, beneath this genial clime. 
No more the forest's children dwell, — 

And, shaken by the hand of Time, 
"Penn's honoured tree of concord fell." 



28 

\Miere once it stood, no trace is found, 
No vestig-e left to mark the spot. 

And 'mid the hum that reigns around, 
In vain its honoured shade is sought. 



Yet, in the lapse of fading- years, 

Some hearts will still the scene explore, 

And feel that pleasure, which endears 
The memory of the davs of yore. 



29 



AN EVENING REVERIE. 



It was the time of twilight — and the stars 
Had just beg'un to unveil themselves on high, 
And walk the courts of heaven. Upon that night 
They went forth, fearless of a rivalr)' — 
For 'twas the interregnum of the moon. 
And every little planetary sylph 
That gave to darkest night its twinkling beam, 
Had leave to shine among the glittering throng. 
And sport its feeble ray at night's levee. 
Forth from their misty chambers, one by one 
They came with smiles of gladness, peeping out 
Into the hazy atmosphere of eve. 
As apprehensive that the parting Sun 
Still watch'd behind the half-closed gate of day. 
To glance one look at their cerulean forms. 
On which it seldom was his lot to gaze. 
They keep their harem sacred — and iiis eye 
Is an intrusion on their day -light haunts ^ 
But when, retiring, he has laid aside 
His golden casque and scimitar — and drawn 
4* 



30 

The crimson curtains round his evening couch, 

Then, like the zephyrs from ^olus' caves, 

TJiey throw their silver veils across their hair. 

And wander out to chant their melodies 

In the Hesperian gardens of the sky. 

So v/as it on the lovely eve we cite — 

All heaven and earth were still — or if a sound 

Breathed out upon the air — 'twas one that made 

The intervening silence more profound. 

The trees scarce dared to wave their verdant heads, 

As thoug-h they felt that stillness — and the birds. 

That went at times athwart the sleeping air. 

Scarce flapped their wings for awe. — What should 

men do. 
At such a season, when the very deer. 
Amid the solitude of twilight glades. 
Drop on their knees, and turn their eyes to heaven. 
As though they offered homage unto God?* 
What sho\ild men do! — O! thou redeeming Lord, 
When heaven and earth are bowing at thy throne 
In grateful adoration, where is man. 
On whom the perfect image thou hast poured 
Of everlasting love — O! where is man? — 
Jesus! have mercy on thy fallen race! 

* It is an Indian tradition, that on Christmas night, 
all the deer in the woods fall on their knees, and look 
up. 



31 



HOW SWEET TO ME. 



How sweet to me the silent dawn of day. 
When vapours rise along' the peaceful isle, 

For then fond visions o'er mj' fancy play, 
And g-loomy thoughts suspend their reign awhile. 

And as I mark the misty darkness flee 

When the bright sun-beam o'er the earth is cast, 
1 think perhaps my fortunes thus may be. 

Clouded a little space, and bright at last. 



32 



SONG OF THE PERSIAN EXILE. 



The Persians in their creed have a pleasant imagina- 
tion concerning- the death of men. They say that 
every one must come and die in the place where 
the ang-el took the earth of which he had been 
made. — Thevenot. 



O FOR Persia's land of flowers. 
Fragrant as the breath of morn, 

That I might among its bowers. 
See the spot where I was born — 

And beneath its radiant sky, 

Lay me down in peace and die. 

Here, beneath this rugged clime. 

Never can my spirit rest — 
Hasten on thy way, O Time ! 

Bring the hour that makes me blest, 
When my feet again shall roam 
Through my dear — my native home. 



33 

Am I destined here to die ? 

Shall I never hence return? 
Must my ashes tearless lie, 

Distant from my father's urn — 
In this harsh and desert wild? — 
Holy Allal spare thy child! 

In this dark and lonesome glen, 
Low I bend the votive knee- 
Far from angels and from men, 

Still I humbly call on thee. 
Still adoring at the shrine 
Of my father's God and mine. 

0! accept my ardent strain 
In this dreary hour of need, 

And my spirit yet maintain 
Steadfast to my father's creed. 

That I may, through good and ill. 

Worship only Alia still. 

Yes! I feel my faith increase. 
While to thee I trembling kneel. 

And a balmy flood of peace 
Through my bosom softly steal — 

Holy Alia! to thy throne 

Thou at last wilt bring thy own. 



34 

And that consecrated spot, 
Where the angel smiled on nie. 

When to being I was brought. 

Yet once more these eyes shall see. 

And take, beneath its cloudless sky. 

One draught of bliss before I die. 

O! for my dear, my natal clime, 
My own sweet river's gentle hum — 

Haste on thy pinion, lagging Time I 
And let the hour of rapture come — 

When I shall watch the light of morn 

Gleam o'er the hills that saw me born. 

Then may I yield my spirit up 

To Him, who rules the earth and skies. 
And dip, with joy, my golden cup 

Into the lake of Paradise, 
And that immortal pleasure own. 
Which emanates from Alla's throne. 



35 



RECOLLECTIONS 

©F A VISIT TO THE KATERSKILL FALLS. 

Hark! 'tis the dash of waters — from the sound 
The cataract we seek is near at hand — 
Ah! there it goes, leaping' with giant bound 
Into the abyss, whose ravenous jaws expand 
To drink its pure out-pourings. 'Tis a grand, 
A most magnificent and wildering scene, 
Here on its wild and dizzy verge to stand. 
And with a shrinking sense of danger, lean 
Over its edge, and midst dai-k labyrinths of green 

To look deep down into the gulf below. 

And see the affrighted waters foam and fret. 

As from their fearful fall they onward go. 

Chafing o'er rocks, whose verdant sides are wet 

With an unceasing spray, where never yet 

The thirsty sun-beam stooped him down to drink. 

Nature — enchanting Nature here hath set 

A bound upon his wanderings i — who could think 

The all-pervading sun would stop upon its brink'- 



36 

He stops — hilt there, when noon-day skies are bright, 
lie 8|)rciuls his bow of glory o'er the steep. 
Seeming to hover in a veil of light. 
To watch the meek and quiet waters leap 
Over the precipice — away — deep, deep 
Down to tlieir rude and rocky bed below. 
Where rest awaits Ihcm not — no gentle sleep 
Such as tluy fell from, l)iit an angry llirow 
From rock to rock, as 'twere in rage tossed to and 
fro. 

Hy steep descent, we gain at length the field 
Of sylvan warfare — and, with upturned eye. 
We stand and ga/e and gaze, until we yield 
Our soul into the view. See how they fly. 
Just like a crystal sheet let down from higii — 
Tliose sparkling waters; — glittering, as they fall 
In millions of resplendent drops, they vie 
Willi tiic bright gems tliat grace the ])rincely ball, 
Wliere to increase the glow, art's thousand aids they 
call. 

And dark g-reen woods, and rocks anil deep ravines, 

And rushing waters are around us iiere — 

Before tlie grandeur of these sylvan scenes, 

IIow insignificant does man appear! — 

Hark! is't not music' — 'tis sonic wild bird near, 



37 

Breathing' his simple melody — some lone 
And wandering" songster, who, bereft offeur, 
Gives to his rapture utterance, -in a tone 
Of" g'aiety and peace exclusively his own. 

Ye that love solitude, O wouhl yon nuise 

A lingering liour in ccstacy away, 

Here is a spot, where you may safely choose 

Your haunts, especially at break of day, 

Kre the dim mountain doffs its mantle g"rej-. 

O! would you then witli solitude connnune, 

Hither across the hills and woodlands stray — 

Tliis is her chosen fane — her altar; — noon 

Is sacred here to her as hours tluit love the moon. 



38 



NO TEAR-DROP FELL. 



No tear-drop fell — but he stood serene, 

While the fearful storm passed o'er him — 
And he seemed as calm as a noon-day scene. 

With his fathei-'s corse before him. 
But his cheek was pale, and his eye was dim, 

And his aspect seemed to borrow 
The hue of feeling-s, that covered him 

With a mantle dai-k of sorrow. 



'I'he fountain of grief was not up-dried. 

But its source was deep and hidden — 
And the feeling-s of nature had not died, 

Thoug-h they would not flow when bidden. 
While kindred eyes ai'ound were wet. 

And kindred hearts were beating-. 
He stood among- the crowd that was met. 

And seemed not to mark the meeting-. 



39 

He saw the place of his father's rest. 

And he left hiin there to moulder, 
But the feelings that stirred within his breast, 

Were not for the dull beholder. 
His cheek was pale, and his eye was dim. 

But no tear from its lid came stealing-, — 
For the stream of sorrow that flowed in him, 

Was lost in the depth of feeling'. 



40, 



YOUTH. 

IN IMITATION OP MONTGOMERY'S '' NIGHT." 

Youth is the time for hope — 

When the young pulse beats high, 

And radiant prospects offer scope 
To fancy's roving- eye — 

When all without is gay — and all 

Within a joyous festival. 

Youth is the time for peace, 

Ere sorrows have begun, 
And darkening clouds of woe increase 

Before the morning sun; 
Ere we have lost our small pretence 
To purity and innocence. 

Youth is the time for joy — 

When spirits are in play — 
And fairy fantasies employ 

The sunshine of our day. 
When manhood mingles with the wild 
Romance that marks the frolic child. 



41 

Youth is the time for dreams — 
Ay — waking dreams, that roll — 

Like Egypt's irrigating streams — 
In floods upon the soul — 

But where they flowed most full and high, 

They soon subside, and all is diy. 

Youth is the time for love — 

When feeling is most free, 
And all our best emotions move 

To nature faithfully. 
When all ideas that endear. 
Glow wann, and potent, and sincere. 

Youth is the time for song — 

When the heart carols gay. 
Ere summer's tear-drops come to wrong 

The gladness of our May — 
When all that's felt, and all that's seen. 
Is rosy, fragrant, bright and green. 

Youth is the time for thought — 

While yet the mind can show 
Its giant might — ere Time hath brought 

His doom on all below. 
The castled strength of early years, 
A ruin oft in age appears. 



42 

Youth is the time for prayer — 

No sweeter hymns arise. 
Than those which breathe along the air, 

A morning sacrifice. 
The early song of pious love 
Is sweet to Him who dwells above. 

Youth is the time for heaven — 

How happy they who gain 
That rest, before the world has given 

Its dark and deadly stain — 
Who, past all fear, forever lie 
In joys, that neither fade nor fly. 



43 



EUTHANASIA. 

When all my earthly toil is done, 
And I have lain me down to die, 

No more to joy beneath the sun 
Nor smile upon the fair blue sky; 

When I have spoke a last adieu 

To all I loved on earth below. 
And, swiftly passing' from my view. 

The scenes of early pleasure g'O; 

When hope is lost — save that, which Heaven 
Will give to those whose peace is made, 

Who, knowing- all their sins forgiven. 
Meet death, and meet him undismayed — 

O may he then, with feelings bland. 

Compose me to my final rest. 
And gently lay his icy hand 

Upon my still and passive breast. 



44 

Then may I glad my closing' eyes 
With dreams of holy, heavenly love, 

And thoughts of bliss before me rise. 
To make me hope for more above. 



No groan, no sigh be there to break 
The quiet, when my sense shall fail, 

But in deep silence let me take 

My journey through death's shadowy vale. 

Placid and calm as evening's breath. 

So let my spirit pass away — 
And leave me in the arms of death. 

As unperceived as closing day. 

That when my friends shall gather round, 

If any then there be to weep, 
I may at last be smiling found, 

As though I had but sunk to sleep. 

How beautiful, how sweet and fair. 

Is rosy childhood's balmy rest. 
When not a cloud of grief or care 

Comes o'er the sunshine of the breast. 



45 

I low smooth the stream of being" flows, 
How happy tlien existence seems — 

For slumber is serene repose, 
Or broken with Elysian dreams. 



riow fair too such a creature lies — 
How beautiful, when death has come. 

And closed its bright and sparkling eyes. 
And made its tongue of rapture dumb ; 



And blanched its cheek — and chilled its brow, 
Yet left the ringlets clustering o'er. 

As though it did but slumber now. 
In the same rest it knew before. 



So sweetly come my latest sleep. 
Such let my soul's departure be — 

Even like the twilight on the deep. 
When all is calm in sky and sea. 

Let peace, with halcyon wing, be there. 
To waft me to her joyous sky, 

And life's last breath ascend in air. 
Like summer evening's softest sigh. 



46 



I SHOULD HAVE BEEN A PERSIAN. 

1 SHOULD have been a Persian, 
For I love the glorious sun — 

And I feel his warm and genial ray- 
Through all my pulses run; 

As if indeed, a guardian God 
Inspired his cheering beams. 

Whene'er he spreads his smile abroad, 
How joyous Nature seems. 



I should have been a Persian, 

For I love theu* land of flowers. 
Their groves of cinnamon and palm, 

Their still and shady bowers — 
There's fragrance in the very thought 

Their rose-crowned gardens bring, 
And even luxury is bought 

By mere imagining. 



47 

I should have been a Persian, 

Foi" 1 love their bees and birds, 
Brig-ht things of sweetness and of song, 

Too exquisite for words; — 
And Where's the heart, whose life-blood flows, 

Would shun the plaintive wail. 
Breathed on the bosom of the rose, 

By her loved nighting-ale. 

r should have been a Persian, 

For I love their rivulets — 
Their little chiming water-falls. 

Their fountains and their jets — 
Their soft voluptuous valleys, spread 

Among a thousand rills — 
O'er these by fancy's magic led. 

My heart with rapture fills. 

I should have been a Persian, 

For I love their wild romance, 
The freshness and the fragrancy 

That round their story dance. 
If life be but a chequered dream. 

Which soon is past and done, 
Your slumbers would the brightest seem, 

Wild children of the Sun ! 



48 



LAMENT FOR A YOUNG FRIEND. 

Thott died'st — and I could not be there, 

To watch thy dying bed — 
To see thy lifeless body, ere 

It slumbered with the dead! 
O sainted spirit of my friend. 
If from thy joy thou now dost bend, 

My soul b)r thine is read; 
Thou knowest my heart still beats for thee, 
In ming-led love and misery. 

Yet, yet once more I would have prest 

Thy warm and thrilling- hand. 
Or, to allure thee into rest. 

Thy fevered temples fann'd — 
Or, that denied, I would at least 
Have seen thee, when thy heart had ceased 

Its pulses to command, 
And taken one last, parting view. 
And shed one tear, to memory due. 



4i) 

But they have laid thee in the earth; 

And I can now no more 
Behold thee, as in friendsliip's birth. 

Thy ardent soul outpour; — 

when through life 1 backward g-aze 
Upon those past and precious days, 

Which time can ne'er restore, 

1 scarce can deem the vision vain, 
That bids me hope for such again. 



Voung- spii'it! from thy heavenly home 

If, with an angel's eve. 
Thou dost about my dwelling roam. 

Receive my warmest sigh — 
And through my soul thy nature shed. 
That when, my full allotment read. 

It is my part to die. 
We may again in Eden meet 
In lasting union, full and sweet. 



O blessed are the dead, who die 
In righteousness, — for theirs 

Is glory in the eternal sky. 
Where every object wears 

6 



50 

One calm and pure and heavenly form, 
Unsullied or by age or storm, 

Undarkened even by tears, — 
But shines forever fair and bright, 
In soft, serene, ethereal light. 



GIVE NOT THY TIME TO TEARS. 

GiTE not thy time to tears — 

Why should the being' of a moment weep? — 
Yet but a few short years, 

And in the silent grave thy griefs shall sleep. 

Life is a barren shore — 

But soon the friendly bark of death shall come, 
And waft th)^ spirit o'er. 

To the bright verge of thy eternal home. 



Sorrows are round thee now — 

But their dim shades shall quickly pass away. 
And on thy angel brow 

Shall sit the halo of an endless day. 

Yet but a few short years, 

A few short years, perhaps with clouds o'ercast. 
And all thy griefs and fears 

Will be to thee as creatures of the past. 



(live not thy time to tears, — 

Why should the being of a niomcut weep? — 
Yet but a few short years, 

And in the silent grave thy woes shall sleep. 



Youth is soon past and gone — 

And manhood's fleeting days are quickly told- 
And even when age comes on. 

Even latest age comes early to the old. 

Many in childhood die — ■' 

Many in youth the world of shadows view — 
Many in manhood fly, — 

But those who live till wintry age — how few!- 



O then serenel)' wait, 

The days of sorrow cannot last thee long. 
And soon thj' present state 

Will be but the remembrance of a song. 



Give not thy time to tears — 

"Why should the being of a moment weep ? — 
Y'et but a few short years. 

And in deep silence thou shalt sweetly sleep. 



53 



STANZAS 

SUGGESTED BT A LATE MEIAXCHOLT OCCURHEKCE. 

The spirit of the storm awoke, 

And hurled him from the bark. 
And o'er his head the ocean broke, 

In surges wild and dark. 
The ship flew on with rapid sweep. 

Swift as a warrior's spear. 
And left him shrieking- on the deep. 

With none but God to hear. 

Perhaps while strug-g'ling' with the wave. 

One hopeless thought might come, 
And at the portal of the grave. 

Portray his distant home. 
That home — what language can impart 

How utterly undone 
Must be a tender father's heart, 

Who weeps an only son' — 
6* 



54 

Ilis was that age, when young- and g-ay, 

The heart is full of jo3% 
Ere sober manhood takes away 

The feelings of the boy. 
Tut neithei" youth nor gaiety. 

Could save him from the deep, — 
And now in ocean's cemetery. 

He sleeps his dreamless sleep. 



55 



DAY-BREAK. 

Sweet day! how lovely Is thy dawn, 
When balmy zephyrs softly fly. 

And on the bosom of the lawn. 
The honied dew-drops glittering lie. 

How sweet to watch the rosy clouds. 
The bright-winged heralds of thy way- 

And hear the gay and sylvan crowds 
To thee their early tribute pay. 

Amid the fragrance of thy flowers. 
Who would not to the groves repair, 

And seek the hills at twihght hours. 
To meet the God of Nature there i* — 



56 



THE LAMP OF LOVE. 

The Hindoo girls, in the dusk of the evening', trim a 
small lamp, and set it afloat on the Ganges in a lo- 
tus-leaf; supposing that if it floats down unquench- 
ed, their lover is true; but if it flickers or goes out, 
that he is wavering and false. 

I GIVE my fortune to the wanton wave, — 
O! gentle evening breeze. 
That lightly wanderest through these whispering 
trees. 
Blow softly o'er the stream, and my dear venture 
save. 

I set my beaming lamp of love afloat — 
O! sacred Ganges, bear 
The delicate taper on with fondest care, 
Lest thy unresting wave should wreck my fragile 
boat. 



There is a softness in this dewy eve, 
A stillness and a hush, 
No sound is heard but that calm, soothing rush 
Of waters, which thus far the ear can scarce perceive. 



The dusky vapours g-ather o'er the stream, 
And see — above the west. 
With not a single cloud to dim her crest. 
The beauteous star of love uplifts her silver beam. 



My lotas sliall do well this heavenly night — 
Smoothly it glides along — 
While my frail lamp burns steadily and strong. 
And throws upon the wave a gay and cheerful light. 

• 

But ah! it wavers now — its ray grows dim — 
Its light is nearly gone — 
And now 'tis almost darkness where it shone — 
O! can it be that this betokens aught of him' — 

O! can it be my Ilafed is untrue' — 
He who once loved me so. 
That he could offer, for my sake, to throw 
T-ife, fortune, all away, when to my feet he flew. 



58 

My own, my noble Hafed, can he prove 
False to his plig-hted word, — 
Or has he found some gayer, blither bird. 
To play around his heart, and sing to him of love.'- 



I cannot bear the thought — I cannot live 
When fate has quenched yon ray! — 
But by these sacred waters will I lay. 
And to their rising waves my worthless being give. 

Yet hold! it brightens — ^blazes — it hath grown 
Almost a beacon light! — 
O! my heart pants with rapture at the sight. 
For now I know the heart I love is all my own!—- 



59 



VIRTUE. 

The sweet aud blushing rose 

For a little season blows. 
And soon its leaves decay and it falls to the earth, — 

But its fragrance still will last. 

Though beaut3''s bloom be past, — 
And Virtue, like the rose, never loses its worth. 

The world is fair and bright, 

Till the dusky shades of night 
Spread their sombre hues abroad thi'ough the regions 
of day — 

But the sun that made it fair. 

Shines as bright through other air, — 
And Virtue, like th^ sun, never quenches its ray. 

The brook runs still and slow, 

With a soft and gentle flow — 
For the heat has drunk its wave where it went mean 
dering, — 

But the fountain murmurs yet, 

O'er its rocky parapet, — 
And Vii'tue, Hke the brook, has an unexhausted spring, 



60 

The wild note of the swan 

Is scarce heard ere it is gone, 
And its melodies are past with her slow-departing- 
breath, — 

But they whisper more of heaven, 

Than her life had ever given, — 
And Virtue, like the swan, can rejoice e'en in deat)). 



61 



A FLOV/ER 

t"OR AX KAULY GllAVE. 

The tinge of health was on his cheek, 
AVith the g-lovving- hue of the sun-rise streak — 
His heart was hglit, and his spirit was g"ay, 
But the spoiler has claimed his prey. 

We often met at the coming' of nig-lit. 
And cheered the time of departing- lig'ht, 
AVitli fancy's treasure and learning-'s lore — 
But we meet on earth no more. 

All fled that beauty and youth could bring-. 
At the sound of the dread destroyer's wing'. 
And now the brig'ht-blooming- cheek 
Is pale as the ice-hill's peak. 

That heart is still — that hand is cold — 
That form in the sepulchre's vestments roUed- 
That deep dark eye, that flashed so brig-ht, 
Is closed in a long, long- nig'ht. 
7 



62 

As the prisoned bird, when once set free, 
Is seen no more on the forest tree, 
So him we meet not on earth again, — 
His spirit has loosened its chain. 

Away and away the bird will flee 
Betwixt the dim blue sky and sea, — 
And thus the enfranchised soul will spring 
Afar on its soaring wing. 



'63 



LINES 

WRITTEN UNDER DEPRESSION. 

Cease, weary heart! oh! cease to ache, — 

When, when shall peace her pillow make, 

Where, many a sad and dreary day. 

She took her halcyon flig-ht away. 

AVhen will she come ag'ain to bless 

My bosom's gloomy wilderness. 

And shed once more her blissful balm 

On storms, which she alone can calm. 

Yet courage! — when the tempests pour. 

Their fury bursts — and soon is o'er — 

Though deepest night o'erspread the skies, 

The morning will at length arise — 

And when the heart is most opprest, 

Perhaps it comes the nearest rest. 

Oh! Thou! to whose eternal throne. 

The weary fly for peace alone. 

Send down the angel, heavenly bright, 

And give new swiftness to her flight. 

Hasten her long-delayed career, 

Until she find a refuge here. 



ti4 . 



NINETY-FIRST PSALM. 



God is tliy fortress, — from the fowler's snare 

Fly to his arms, and find a refuge there. 

His wing- of love around thee shall be spread. 

And his soft feathers shall protect thy head. 

Thou shalt not fear tJie terrors of the night, 

Nor the fell shaft that glitters in the light. 

The plague, that, clothed in darkness, walks its way. 

Nor that which wasteth at meridian day. 

A thousand shall be smitten at thy side. 

Ten thousand perish where thy steps may guide, 

But while the wicked drink their cup of gall. 

Upon thy dwelling shall no evil fall. 

For thou hast made thy refuge in the Lord, 

And hidden 'neath the shadow of his word. 

And by that high command, which saints obey, 

Kind guardian spirits hover round thy way; 

So that, although thou tread the lion's lair. 

And the fierce adder's venomed fang be there, 

Beneath thy foot all harmless shall they be. 

Nor lift their heads in vengeance against thee. 



65 

For God hath set his love upon thy soul — 
And though the waves of trouble o'er thee roll, 
His voice above the tempest's wrath shall rise, 
And show thee his salvation in the skies. 



66 



SPRING. 

ADDUESSED TO FRIENDS IX THE COUNTllV- 

The voice of Nature, which long- was dumb, 
Now speaks — for tlie sing'Ing' of birds is come. 
And l)ush and brake, and glen and grove 
Are all alive with the song of love — 
And the fields look green before the sun, 
For the reign of Flora has now begun. 

IIow many a day to mcmor}^ due, 

Have 1 passed at this festal time with you, 

And now am I here once more to bless 

The kindness, that cheered my loneliness. 

For the mind must yield to the double charm 

Of eyes that are bright, and hearts that are warm 

But the season of Spring will pass away. 

And to-morrow will wither the flowers of to-day — 

And the scenes that I love but in fancy be viewed, 

And 1 shall sink back to my solitude. 

The Spring will return as the seasons roll, — 

But will there be always a spring-tide of soul' — 



67 



LINES 

WRITTEN AT LEBANON. 

A WEAUT wight, oppressed with care, 

In lonely paths I stray, 
And mark of ills a bitter share 

Attendant on my way; 
But sometimes, as the w^aters roll 

Serene, when tempests cease, 
A friendly voice comes o'er my soul, 

And soothes my heart to peace. 



So, wandering" midst the mountain scenes 

Of this, m)' native land. 
Whose rising hills of evergreens 

In silent beauty stand. 
Your kind attention did impart 

Some moments sweet employ — 
And sent into my drooping heart 

A little touch of joy. 



68 

The lark, at morning's earliest dawn, 

Is piping from the cloud, — 
And when the shades of night are gone. 

Still whistles sweet and loud; — 
So may the angel of delight 

For you his notes prolong. 
And pour in your enraptured sight 

The spirit of his song. 



69 



POVERTY. 



Bocxu to tlic earth by dreary ties. 

Which I can neither break nor sliuii. 
How can I soar into the skies, 

[low can I g-aze upon the suni" 
Beneath the breath of Poverty, 

Dim burns ambition's ardent fire, 
And disappointment's evil eye 

Will often make her flame expire. 



In vain I imp my feeble wing. 

And strug-g'le for the upper air. 
In vain my energies 1 bring, 

Aloft my longing soul to bear. 
In vain I flutter to be free, 

For o'er me sits, with sullen frown. 
The Incubus of Poverty, 

And weighs my rising spirit down. 



70 

The dungeon-like obscurity, 

That waits upon a life like mine, 
Like flameless taper, just to be 

A dreary thing, but not to shine — 
To strive with ardour in the chase, 

And onward pant, with mighty throes, 
And yet at last to lose the race. 

Are boons, which Poverty bestows. 

Few friends — small pleasures — loneliness 

And desolation, when we need 
The voice of comfort most to bless, 

These also are the poor man's meed. 
But yet still worse than e'en the dearth 

Of friends and joys it is, to find 
His station on this crowded earth 

Beneath the level of his mind. 

I would have flown in other days. 

But I have learned to stay my wing. 
Resign the idle breath of praise. 

And almost half forget to sing. 
Yet sometimes o'er my musing hour 

Comes a dim feeling of regret, 
And then I think, did gloom not lower, 

I could be up and soaring yet. 



71 

Yet hold! my spirit! lessons deep 

Hast thou been taught in days gone by, 
And let it be thy care to keep 

The instruction ever in thine eye. 
Whate'er thy varied lot may be, 

O never let thy soul complain. 
For He, who watches over thee. 

Ne'er sent misfortune's shaft in vain. 

What if thy station here below 

Be poor and humble? — such a guise, 
In passing through this vale of woe. 

Befits a traveller to the skies. 
Then take the good which Heaven has sent. 

And yield thy soul to God's decree, 
And let thy motto be " Content," 

Even though thy lot be Poverty. 



A MOTHER'S LAMENT 

FOR HER FAVOURITE SOX. 

It came o'er mj' jo3-ous soul, 
Like the rush of waves on the rocky shore. 
When in sunshine the billows beg-in to roar, 

And the surges fiercely roll. 

It came like an earthquake's shock, 
When the skies are bright and the air is still. 
And the fleecy cloud, that hang-s over the hill. 

Is calm as a noon-day flock. 

They told me the boy was dead — 
He of the blue and laughing eye — 
Oh! how could they let such innocence die' 

They told me his spirit had fled! — 

I could not bear the sound 
Of the voices that spoke my darling's name — 
For like thunderbolts on my heart they came. 

And dealt desolation round. 



73 

But a few short days were o'er, 
Since the brightness of beanty was over his brow,- 
Oh ! how could I look on that pale face now, 

Which rivaled the rose before! — 



Yet I saw him reclined on his bier — 
And I kissed the dark cuvls of his raven hair- 
And my tear-drops fell on his forehead fair, 

But he felt not mv burnino' tear. 



I thought that my heart would break, 
To see him thus, in his life's young day. 
Like an opening floweret, snatched awa} , 

Ere his glories wei-e yet awake. 

His love was deep and strong, 
For it came from a heart so kind and true; 
And round his friends like a bird he flew. 

In the sweetness of beauty and song. 

His spirit was pure and mild, 
For he drank of virtue's eternal flow — 
And innocence sat, like a wreath of snow, 

On the head of the darling child. 



74 

In the midst he was taken away, — 
In the midst of his brightness and beauty and bloom, 
The unrelenting' and ravenous tomb 

Demanded his charming prey. 



But love is stronger j^et. 
And the triumph of death can take away, 
And live in memory's twilight day. 

When the sun himself has set. 



My withered bud shall spring 
Mature in the realms of peace and joy; 
And glory shed round my darling boy 

The light of an angel's wing. 



75 



THE SPIRIT OF THE FIRE. 

I AM the subtile spirit of the fire — 
In earth's untrodden caves and mines I sleep ; 

Forth from its deep recesses I aspire, 

Or there, in darkness, secret vigils keep. 

I travel on the sulphurous lig-htning's wing, 

When storms and tempests hurtle through the sky; 

In azure robes I guard the bui-ning spring. 
And bow before the breeze that passes by. 

I dwell within the bosom of the sun. 
The starry legions own my mystic sway. 

Along the comet's radiant path I run. 

And in its gorgeous train delighted play. 

Oft in the dead of night I lift my head — 

And when you mark the clouds, with ruddy glare, 

Far through the heavens a gloomy lustre shed. 
Be sure, with subtile mischief, I am there. 



76 



'Tis at tlie mldiiig'ht hour, I love to wake, 

Warring- with winds, my wild and wrathful yell; 

Beware, when I destruction's sceptre take, — 
'Twas I that laughed o'er Moscow when she fell! 



I sometimes place me in the ranks of war, 
And stir my pinion when the cannons roar, 

Till, wearied with destruction, men abhor 
The sig-ht of ashes and of human g-ore. 

I wave my wing- on the volcano's height, 
And from its crater clo»ids of smoke arise; 

On these 1 sail along the startled night, 
And wake the dreamhig sleeper with my cries. 

I bear my meteor lamp across the moor. 

To lead the wandering traveller from his way, 

To unfrequented bogs his steps I lure. 

And smile to see him foul deception's prey. 

When winter rages round with frost and snow, 
I brighten in the light that cheers your dome; 

'Tis mine to bid the dusky embers glow 

With beams of comfort on your evening home. 



77 

And when, amid the falling coals, your eye 

May castles, hills, and rocks, and fields behold. 

Know 'tis the sylph of fire — yes, 'tis 1 

Who there these beauteous fantasies unfold. 

Gentle and wrathful — pleasing- and yet dread — 
Where shall your busy search my likeness findi' 

Throug-h earth and air my wide dominions spread, 
I am a spirit of fantastic kind. 



76 



ECHO. 

WKITTEN AT THE YELLOW SPRINGS. 

Baisblixo Echo — noisy elf, 

Sorry remnant of thyself — 

Doomed to wander, all unseen, 

In the woods and mountains green — 

Daughter of the earth and air — 

Once so fair — so passing' fair — ' 

In love's snare of rapture caught, 

O ! what a change his dart has wrought. 

No more is seen thy form of light, 

AVith thousand angel graces bright. 

No more thy cheek's pure, roseate dye, 

Like tints that gild the morning sky — 

No more thy eye's cerulean blue, 

Like the unclouded heaven's own hue — 

No more the smile, no more the glee, 

That better days had known in thee — 

Of face and fonn at once bereft, 

Nothing' but aiiy voice is left, 

And that, alas! can only lend. 

In quick return, the words we send. 



79 

Yet, prattling' inmate of the wood, 

Even from thy dreary solitude, 

O teach the unsuspecting- fair 

Of love's delicious wiles a care. 

External beauty may decay, 

And, like thine own, may fade awav, 

And yield them feeling's fraug-lit with pain. 

If nought but empty sound remain. 

The loveliest flower that courts the sky. 

Breaks from its calyx but to di« — 

And beauty's bloom alike is made. 

Even like the lovely flower, to fade. 

O! teach them that man's heart alone, 

Deserves the homage of their own — 

That love should never sacrifice 

To graceful form and laughing eyes^ 

But only pour his hallowed bowl. 

Upon the altar of the soul. 

Heart will not fade — soul cannot die — 

Their loveliness will long remain — 
And in a more exalted sky. 

When lost in this, revive again. 
Then, babbling- Echo, oft arise, 

And whisper to the musing- fair. 
Love is a floweret of the skies. 

Nurtured on earth, to flourish there. 



80 



THE GLOOM OF NIGHT. 

Air — Down the hum, Davie, love. 

The gloom of night is round my heart. 

And sorrow fills my breast — 
The beams of pleasure's sun depart, — 

I seek in vain for rest. 
But still thy cheering smile is near. 

And that alone I see — 
Come sing thy song of love, my dear. 

And I will sing with thee. 



Now darkness hovers o'er ray soul, 

And gives me to dismay, — 
And mists and shades around me roll. 

And clouds obscure my way. 
But still thy soothing voice I hear. 

And that can bid them flee — 
Come sing thy song of love, my dear. 

And I will sing with thee. 



81 

Tis loiig since first, beyond the hill. 

We met in early days. 
When by the brake or mountain rill, 

I whispered words of praise; 
When, no one but the wild bird near, 

I said, in j^outhful glee. 
Come sing- thy song of love, my dear, 

And 1 will sing with thee. 

Since then, thy heart to me has been 

More dear than aught beside. 
And passing time and changing scene 

The bond have closer tied. 
And midst them all thou yet art here. 

An angel still to me — 
Come sing thy song of love, my dear, 

And I will sing with thee. 

Those early days of joy are past, 

And later years have brought 
Around my heart the gloomy cast 

Of sorrow and of thought. 
While thou art left I will not fear. 

Nor suffer hope to flee — 
Come sing tliy song of love, my dear, 

And I will sing with thee. 



80 



THE GLOOM OF NIGHT. 

Air — Down the burn, Davie, love. 

The gloom of night is round my heart. 

And son'ow fills my breast — 
The beams of pleasure's sun depart, — 

I seek in vain for rest. 
But still thy cheering- smile is near. 

And that alone I see — 
Come sing- thy song of love, my dear, 

And I will sing with thee. 



Now darkness hovers o'er my soul. 

And gives me to dismay, — 
And mists and shades around me roll, 

And clouds obscure my way. 
But still thy soothing voice I hear, 

And that can bid them flee — 
Come sing thy song of love, my dear, 

And I will sing with thee. 



81 

Tis long since first, be3'oiiJ the hill, 

We met in early days. 
When by the brake or mountain rill, 

I whispered words of praise; 
When, no one but the wild bird near, 

I said, in )'outhful glee. 
Come sing- thy song of love, my deal-, 

And 1 will sing with thee. 



Since then, thy heart to me has been 

More dear tlian aught beside. 
And passing time and changing scene 

The bond have closer tied. 
And midst them all thou yet art here. 

An angel still to me — 
Come sing thy song of love, my dear, 

And I will sing with thee. 

Those early days of joy are past, 

And later years have brought 
Around my heart the gloomy cast 

Of sorrow and of thought. 
While thou art left I will not fear. 

Nor suffer hope to flee — 
Come sing thy song of love, my dear, 

And I will sing with thee. 



82 



RECONCILIATION. 

Go kiss off the tear from her cold cheek, and see 
If the smile of her eye will not lig-hten on thee — 
Take her soft hand, and press it in lingering strain, 
And see if she give not tlie pressure again; 
Let thy voice and thy manner be tender and bland — 
She'll surrender to love — tho' she start at command. 

Go tell her of moments forever gone by. 

When love was the language that laughed in her 

eye — 
Go tell her there's something for both to regret, 
That she ought to forgive — that she ought to forget — 
One word of concession will soften her down — 
She will yield to thy smile — though she shrink at tJiy 

frown. 

The love that in early days over her stole. 
Will come with fresh vigour again on her soul — 
The woman's own nature once more shall arise. 
And sparkle in tenderness bright from her ej'es — 
One kiss of affection will cause her to quail — 
And thus love shall o'ercome her — where anger would 
fail. 



83 



A DIRGE FOR THE DEAD. 



Ashes to ashes — earth to eailh — 

Friend of my soul, a long farewell — 
The day of g'loom — the hour of mirth 

Of thy 4ear spirit oft shall tell — 
The toils of time — the thoug'hts of care, 

When thou wert near to sooth me, fled — 
But now, alas! I have to bear 

Their doubled weight, for thou art dead! 

The days are past, when, arm in arm. 

We wandered o'er the breezy hill. 
And felt how nature's every charm. 

In friendship's eye was brightened still; 
Or when, intent, we loved to pore 

Together o'er the classic page, 
And saw a light in learnmg's lore, 

Which can no more my heart engage. 



84 

No more — no more shall I behold 

The smile, that made my morning bright,- 
No more — no more shall I enfold 

The heart, that thrilled me with delight; 
Ah! never more shall pleasure's beam 

Be o'er my g-loomy spirit shed — 
My life is night — my thoughts a dream — 

My soul is sad — for thou art dead! 

Vet happy thou — beloved too well. 

And prized too dearly — happy thou — 
Escaped from all the toils, which tell 

Deep furrows on the living brow— 
O ti-uly blest — to feel no more 

Those ills, that haunt the human breast, 
To be where soiTow cannot pour 

Her cup of woe upon thy rest. 

Ashes to ashes — earth to earth — 

Friend of my soul a long farewell — 
The day of gloom — the hour of mirth 

Of thy dear spirit oft shall tell — 
The hour of mirth ! — that hour is past — 

'Tis buried in devouring gloom — 
For I on thee have looked my last, 

And thoughts of mirth no more resume. 



s.') 



THE CONTRAST. 

She g'ave her heart to gladness — she had youth, 
And buoyant spirits, and a mind untouched 
By sorrow's blighting- mildew. — All her daj's 
Were one bright scene of sunshine, and her nights 
AVere full of fairy dreams of happiness — 
Dreams, such as make a kind of paradise 
Around the tranquil sleeper, or allure 
flis wandering faiicy into those wild scenes. 
Which poets feign 'neath oriental skies. 
Iler cares, if cares she had, were like the showers 
Which fall 'mid summer's glories, over soon, 
And soon forgotten; leaving the sweet bow 
Of joy, in glowing and luxui-iant tints. 
Upon the bosom of the parted storm. 
Her soul, like the gay billow of the deep, 
Went bounding' lightly onward — and her face 
Woke into smiles, whene'er she turned it up 
Towards the clear blue heaven — her spirit seemed 
As if it drank at some ethereal fount 
Of bliss, which gave a lightness to the heart, 
And like Lethean waters, banished care 
9 



86 

And every trace of trouble from the soul. 

Her cheek was crimsoned with the flush of health — 

And, as the wind played in her raven locks. 

And waved her glossy curls before the sun. 

She seemed a second Hebe, full of grace 

And life, and glee, and love, and happiness. 

Some few years passed above her, and she grew 
ll»to the age of womanliood — 'twas few. 
But a few years — and she was yet in youth. 
Yet there was wrought a change upon her brow, 
Which told that pleasure's sun to her had set. 
And left her heart in darkness. — She was pale — 
'I'he rose, that once liad bloomed upon her cheek, 
Was blanched to deadly whiteness — and the eye, 
That once had flashed in the excess of joy. 
Now glistened only with the de^ of teai-s. 
The smile of gladness, and the song of love. 
That erst had breathed forth from her bounding heart. 
Like the wild chime of waters from the rock, 
Were seen and heard no moi-e. — A mournful strain 
Was all the chant she sung, as, late at eve, 
Wandering alone, the damp breeze of the night 
Kissed her dishevelled ringlets. The bright world 
She thought her own in childhood's early day — 
The enchanted land her buoyant soul had wrought, 
Had vanished from her view — and now she fell 



87 

Tlie cold and dull realities of life. 

Sorrow had touched her — and her spirits sank. 

That freshness of the feeling's had gone by. 

Which only to the dawn of being clings. 

And flies before its mid-day — as the dew. 

Which nectars morning flowers and twilight fields, 

Is early drunk up by the risen sun. 

Alas! alas! why cannot that sweet hour 

Remain to us forever. — Happy time — 

Blithe day-break of existence — full of peace. 

And joy and radiance — soon it passes by — 

And passes — never — never to return. 



NOTES. 



Note I. 
Dread was the hour when Afric's sons arose. — P. 6. 

" In 1791 an insurrection beg-an in the French 
plantations in St. Domiug-o, and in a short time not 
less than 100,000 blacks were in arms; the manufac- 
tures and plantations appeared as one general confla- 
g-ration, and the plains and mountains were covered 
with carnag'e and blood." — Darby's Brooke. 

Note II. 
Logan the Mingo. — P. 14. 

The story of Log-an is too well known to require 
much elucidation; it may not, however, be amiss to 
insert a few particulars connected with his history. 

In the spring of the year 1774, some outrages were 
committed on an inhabitant of the ft-ontiers of Vir- 
9» 



90 

g'inla, by two Indians of the Shawanee tribe, whicli 
the neighbouring whites, according to their custom, 
undertook to punish in a summary manner; and hav- 
ing' collected a pai-ty, proceeded down the Kanaway 
in quest of vengeance. Unfortunately, a canoe with 
women and children, with one man only, was seen 
coming from the opposite shore unarmed, and un- 
suspecting an attack from the whites. The marau- 
ders concealed themselves on the bank of the river, 
and the moment the canoe reached the shore, sin- 
gled out their objects, and at one fire killed every 
person in it. This happened to be the family of 
Logan, who had long been distinguished as a friend 
of the whites. So unworthy a return provoked his 
vengeance, and he accordingly signalized himself in 
the war which ensued. In the autumn of the same 
j-ear a decisive battle v/as fought at the mouth of the 
Great Kanawa}', in which tlie collected force of the 
Shawanees, Mlngoes and Delawares were defeated 
by a detachment of the Virginian militia. The In- 
dians sued for peace. Logan, however, disdained to 
be seen among the sui)]>liants; but lest the sincerity 
of tlie treaty should be distrusted, from which so dis- 
tinguished a chief abstracted himself, he sent, by a 
messenger, the well known speech to be delivered to 
Lord Dunmore. — Vide Jefferson's Nates on Virginia. 



91 

Note III. 

Kaatskill Mountains and Kateiskill Falls— P. 20 &. 35. 

As those who may not yet have visited these high- 
ly interesting scenes will be likely to form but an im- 
perfect idea of them from the very indefinite descrip- 
tion which poetry is capable of affording-, I annex the 
following selection from a few desultoiy notes which 
I made of an excursion in that vicinity in the summer 
of 1824. It may probably enable the reader the bet- 
ter to understand the metrical description, if indeed 
it be not equally unintelligible. 

At 9 A. M. having previouslj' agreed with 

on a visit to the Kaatskill mountains, we left Albany 
in the Kent, and after a passage rendered agreeable 
by the pleasures of social intercourse, reached the 
village of Kaatskill about dinner time. The village 
stands on the west side of the Hudson, at some dis- 
tance from the bank, and about thirty miles south of 
Albany, and twelve or thirteen from the summit of 
the mountain which we proposed to ascend. Noth- 
ing remarkable presented itself in our gently undu- 
lating road, until we reached wliat is called the foot 
of the mountain. From this spot our course became 
more steep and circuitous, and led us through gloomy 
forest scenes, the quondam residence of bears and rat- 



92 

tlesiiakes. As we passed along amid these sylvan soli- 
tudes, we could not help thinking- of our old friend 
and precursor Rip Van Winkle, and while we went 
slowly onward by the green knolls and gloomy re- 
cesses of these solitary hills, it seemed as though we 
might almost expect to see the antiquated figure of 
the drowsy German royalist starting up from his long 
slumber, to wolider at the mountain rivulet tliat rolled 
by him, and the poor modern creatures, that asked 
the aid of horses, to drag them heavily up these 
dreary passes. As we progressed, we occasionally 
encountered an opening in the forest, through which 
we obtained a transient glimpse of the glorious scene, 
which was to burst upon us in full splendour, when 
we had attained tlie summit. We continued to pur- 
sue our way steadfastly on an excellent mountain 
road, when, forewarned b)^ the coolness of the air 
that we had attained a considerable height, on mak- 
ing a sudden turn in our course, we beheld the pretty 
white edifice, which was to close our journey, perch- 
ed, as if by magic, upon the very brow of the preci- 
pice above, and glowing gaily*beneath the rays of the 
sun, which was fast approaching the western horizon. 
A few roods more brought us to its proud station, and 
O! what a scene burst upon our enraptured gaze! 
Standing on an elevation of three thousand feet above 



93 

the waters of the majestic Hudson, we looked down, 
and saw it diminished to a mere rivulet, apparently 
at the distance of a few hundred yards, with white 
feather-like sails gliding about on its peaceful sur- 
face, as it went winding along its majestic course, to 
us no longer mountainous. The intervening country, 
upon which we seemed to look down almost perpen- 
dicularly, presented a most beautiful and picturesque 
landscape, exhibiting the appearance of a neat and 
finely arranged garden, its mighty forests showing 
like mere shrubs in our view; while here and there, 
little specks of houses were seen scattered through- 
out the valley, sending up their tiny wreaths of smoke, 
as if well contented with their less sublime and less 
elevated station. It was a scene too vast and too 
magnificent for the eye to grasp at one gaze, and 
almost aching with the stretch of vision, it was led 
on from prospect to prospect, until it found an hori- 
zon of rest on the Green Mountains, which bounded 
the view at the distance of sixty miles. 

By this time, the sun had sunk below a loftier ridge 
of hills, that rose above us to the west, and we were 
soon left to the milder beauties of a moonlight night. 
The sylvan queen was, however, as yet in her minor- 
ity, and did not afford sufficient light to render the 
landscape distinct ; but here and there, scattered 



94 

about over the misty valley, we could discover the 
twinkling of earthly lights, that shone beneath us, 
like the reflection of stars in the watei\ After such 
an overwhelming scene, the senses needed rest, 
which we took, as far as an over-crowded house 
could furnish means. 

The next morning we were stiri'ing betimes, antici- 
pating the pleasure of a glorious sunrise. But in this 
we were disappointed, for it was "a day of clouds," 
and we missed the gorgeous view of the "morning 
spread upon the mountains." I did not however 
feel disposed to regret the shifting of the scene, 
which Providence had ordered, for a sublimer view 
than that which was presented can scarcely be ima- 
gined. We stood upon our upper height, almost 
entirely free from the mists which prevailed below — 
and looking down, we could see the white, fleecy 
clouds rolling in great volumes far — far beneath us, 
and. stretching, with a kind of " billowy boundless- 
ness," over the whole range of country within our 
horizon. Sometimes we saw them shooting up into 
beautiful floating spires, — then Proteus-like, chang- 
ing into divers amusing and fanciful shapes, affording 
abundant food for imagination, — and, as the different 
strata shifted their places, sometimes presenting a 
kind of dreamy vista, through which we could dis- 



95 

cover the " woody valley" lying, with all its verdant 
beauties, away in the deep distance below. The 
spectacle was beavitiful, and one calculated to ex- 
cite the most interesting' emotions; for the very air 
which we breathed in tliis exalted region seemed to 
influence the mind, and lift the spirit in the contem- 
plation of nature's g-lories. 

About five o'clock we set out, in a dearborne, to 
visit the Falls, about two miles off — and having ap- 
proached within a short space, we dismounted, and 
pursued our way through a narrow and rugged foot 
path. After proceeding a little distance, we came to 
an opening in the wood, and one of the wildest, and 
most romantic scenes in nature presented itself be- 
fore us. An area of some hundred yards in circum- 
ference, was there suri'ounded by a lofty forest, 
which gave the scene an air of gloomy grandeur; 
and from amid tlie darkness of this woodland soli- 
tude, came the little stream, which forms this splen- 
did cascade. A considerable ledge of rocks obtrudes 
itself over the deep abyss, and from a platform erected 
on one of its overhanging precipices, 1 had the first 
view of this most beautiful exhibition. Creeping out 
from amid the shade of its embowering foliage, the 
timid little rivulet comes gurgling alopg, and gliding 
over the abrupt precipice, makes an awful leap of one 



96 

hundred and seventy -five feet, and dashes its terrifi- 
ed and sparkling waters upon the rocky basin below. 
Hence, as if eager to escape from the scene of so ter- 
rible a fall, it hurries onward, over a rude mass of 
rocks, a descent of eighty feet further, fretting and 
foaming and chafing as it goes, until it reaches its 
darksome channel, and glides rapidly away, beneath 
a screen of shrubbery and underwood. Looking 
down from the platform above mentioned, 1 could 
scarcely persuade myself that the second fall could 
possibly be more than five or ten feet, and it was not 
until I beheld the diminished forms of some specta- 
tors, who just then emerged from the thicket, that I 
could bring my mind to a just conception of the aw- 
ful profundity. 

" How fearful. 



" And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low." 

Crossing the stream on a rude bridge, we descend- 
ed, by a steep path, and several irregular flights of 
roughly fashioned steps, to the spot where the wa- 
ters strike, after their fii'st, wild leap, and spread 
around a constant shower of spray. P'rom this point, 
surrounded as you are by towering forest trees, 
which impart a kind of sombre aspect to the scene, 
you look upward, and behold, as from the bottom of 



97 

a deep abyss, the clouds floating in g-loom)' grandeur 
above their peering tops. At some distance below 
the hmited aperture, which discloses the clouded 
heavens, you mark tlie ledge of dark rock hanging 
over your head, and see from its verge the narrow 
sheet of agitated water, as it were on wing through 
the atmosphere, and descending in one unimpeded 
line of glittering beaut}', until it breaks fiercely on 
the rock at your feet, and rolls away to a fresh en- 
counter with the obstacles that hinder its passage. 
The ledge over which this little streamlet thus im- 
petuously sweeps, hollows considerably underneath, 
and at its base forms an extensive amphitheatre, of a 
nearly semi-circular form, in which you may stand at 
the distance of forty or fifty feet behind the sheet of 
water, and watch it dashing down before you, with- 
out being at all incommoded by the misty shower, 
which it flings abroad on the rocks and shrubbery 
around. Now and then the voice of a bird breaks 
upon you from amid these solitary wilds, as if it 
might be the genius of this romantic region, offering 
up, in this stupendous temple, his morning orisons 

to the God of Nature. Delighted with our visit to 

this enchanting spot, we re-ascended the rocks, and 
taking another view from the summit, regained our 
carriage, and returned to breakfast. By this time the 
10 



98 

mists had risen and settled round us in so dense a 
fog-, that we could discover objects but a very short 
distance, and seemed indeed to be stationed in the 
clouds. About ten o'clock we left the mansion house, 
and with a dense fog still prevailing', commenced the 
descent of the mountain. 



THE END. 



!UN -7 !3^i5 



